Bury me in, I'll make you a home
by gustin puckerman
Summary: "The sun would burn up bagizillion years from now, and I'd probably still love you. What's so wrong with that?" Rivaille learns to adapt and accepts Hange —and whatever comes with her. Oneshot.


**my first (failed) attempt at hange/levi.**** ugh, someone shoot me.**** un-beta'd; also available to view on AO3. inspired greatly by gabrielle aplin's please don't say you love me**.

...

**Bury me in, I'll make you a home**.

"**J**_ust please don't say you love me, 'cause I might not say it back_  
><em>Doesn't mean my heart stops skipping when you look at me like that<em>."

.

She's young when she meets him. Levi doesn't eye her with jealousy when she struts forward with all of her manic charms and surprises everybody when she says she's fifteen years old. ("Well, actually, I _will_ be turning fifteen in, approximately, twelve days- or could it be eleven? You know what. I always get my birth date confused. Any-_hoo_...") She _shouldn't_ be fifteen years old, thinks Levi absently, who's still managing the last bits of what puberty has for him when he sees her towering almost every teenage boy in the room, mouth yapping non-stop about this-and-that and some other extra shit on oxidation and grass.

(Really. Does _anybody_ actually has an idea of what she's talking about?)

Erwin likes her enough. Which is annoying.

"She's smart, you know. We need people like her." The much older man reasons when Levi non-intentionally voices aloud of the girl (or is it a boy? Who the fuck cares, really. What matters is, is that the voice of hers fucking drives him to the wall.) Erwin smiles at him with this crooked, half-smile, which, he supposes, should be assuring, a sign of comfort, but it really kind of creeps Levi out instead. (He's not very good at this, alright. Being, what— _friendly_?) "And she's not so bad."

"Smart." Levi repeats, tasting something bitter at the back of his throat. "Smart people don't babble like an idiot."

Erwin smiles again, constrainedly. "Why don't you get to know her?"

Like hell that's going to happen.

He doesn't get to know her. In fact, he doesn't even know her _name_ enough to call her by it and "politely" asks her to get the fuck out when she bursts into his room one night and starts spewing something about bugs, sands and the goddamn galaxy. She goes for the space under his bed, prompting him to jump out and says something along the line of, "What in the _fuck_—" because this person is batshit crazy, and he just fucking cleaned the room about an hour ago.

"Hey, did you know that houseflies find sugar with their feet, which are 10 million times more sensitive than human tongues? 10 millions! Crazy, huh? 10 millions, I tell you! I read it somewhere in this, uh, this _book_—" it's like she doesn't even realise she's breaching some sort of privacy (a _lot_ of privacy, mind you; he's fucking naked for goodness' sakes), which really, doesn't surprise Levi at all with how perfectly super insane she gets on just talking about the things that she talks about. "I don't know where it is anymore. I tried searching for it back home, but I got distracted and, uh... _Oh!_ Did you know that—"

"No." He cuts in, agitated now, no longer caring to close the section where his cock limps about. "What are you doing here?"

"Um, my bug got out." She says distractingly, finally crawling out from the under his bed. "Well, it's a spider really. Spiders aren't bugs, do you know that? They're these things called _arachnids_ and basically these things—"

"Get out."

"Oh, did I mention my spider is poisonous?" She gives out this, he guesses what should be, an innocent grin. Man, she's such a freak.

"_What_—" he mutters under his breath, alert now, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "There's no spiders here." He decides to tell her.

"You can't be _too_ sure..." She sing-songed, wiggling her finger playfully at him.

God, Levi wants to slap her.

"Just get out."

"Hey do you drink water a lot?" She starts again. "I once did this experiment, you know, to see the changes in—"

"Oh my god, get _out_."

"You've got a nice view from here." She stares out of his window instead, eyes blinking at the dark night sky. Levi observes what she's watching, though with much less interest as he searches for a pants or his goddamned underwear. "I don't have windows in my room. It's very dark."

Then, she goes ahead and lies down.

_Fantastic_.

Levi kicks her. Her thigh, that is. As softly as his whole body can manage. (Sure, he's kinda cruel. But he knows what to hit, and what not to.) She doesn't budge, eyes staring dulling into the sky as though it's the most interesting event in the world. "Shitty Eyes." He calls. "Go. You can't stay here."

"But I want to..." She says it like a little kid dreaming high on ice cream, voice dreamy and air-like, before: "Oh can I? Can I? Can I?" grabbing on his leg like he's some kind of prize. Goddamn.

"No."

"But you've got _such_ an amazing view from here, and I learn about some of these things you know. I read about this a _lot_. In some books they tell you—"

"Get. Out."

And then she lets out this "Pleaseeeeee" where she extends the 'e' of the word longer to probably about one millions 'e' with just one breath because at three a.m., Levi's convinced she's not entirely _human_, and if it's anyone who can be as annoying 24/7 without failing, it's Shitty Four Eyes. He says finally, "_Fine_" and trudges to his bed, wearing his pants this time. She opens her mouth, probably waiting to burst into fits of babbling nonsense when he snaps, "One squeak of word, Four Eyes, and I'll shove a boot down your throat, understood?"

She giggles instead, nods and looks out of the window.

Two hours later, she leaves.

He still doesn't take a chance though. He doesn't sleep naked after that.

.

.

.

She starts joining him for lunch.

It's strange because she would go on and on and on and on about everything in the whole wide world (Levi learns to tune her out 20 minutes in. It's baffling how easy it really is to do so when she's not exactly paying attention if he's truly listening at all.) and Levi still doesn't know her name. They're trained separately when they do, which is odd but Levi's exactly not one to question authority, and finds out days later that the reason she's always called in early during lunch before midday training starts are because she's requested in the lab.

_She's smart, you know_, he hears Erwin voice tumbles in his head when she watches her go, stealing his food out of his plate on the way. He frowns at her when she does - did you fucking washed your hand, you dirty sack of shit? - when she only grins and stick her tongue out at him.

Right.

Very mature.

_Huh_, he thinks.

Whatever.

They go to their first expedition out of the wall a day after that. Hundred people get out, about 60 or less returns. It's much, much better than the last one, Levi hears someone say, but doesn't think it matters when they're piling up dead bodies to carry home. He doesn't see her at all. He's good at this, a Squad Leader says. Kills more Titan the first time than any other recruits try to. He grunts —Levi doesn't _thank_— and stares at his broken blades. He supposes it should feel good, hearing something like that (it's an accomplishment, isn't it? Better than whatever he's done when he's surviving at the streets.) but reality hits, and he feels more like shit than he's ever felt before.

Even Shitty Four Eyes never-ending crap theories sound better on the moment.

(He could've done _more_, you know? Slices more. Kill more. God, he's such a useless piece of—)

He finds out later that she's not in the expedition. But she tells him that their cost aren't a complete loss. ("You brought back something! I didn't get to see it, which is a shame, but I did get a _peek_—") When she stays in his room that night, he lets her. He stares at her for a couple of minutes, wondering when the fuck did he ever allow this- this- this _thing_ to be okay, with him and her, with them _alone_, but he doesn't voice it aloud and only watches her until he knows his mindless gaze eventually turns into a glare and she's glaring back at him. "What." She snaps, pushing on her goggles.

"Shithead."

"Short-stack."

He glares some more.

"Wanna hear the stories about the stars?" Her eyes are bright.

He turns back to the ceiling, rolls his eyes. "No."

She tells it to him anyway. He guesses it's okay. He learns that if he listens just in the appropriate amount, subtract the bullshit that is the endless side-stories she would add later on, the "stars", as she tells him, aren't a bad thing after all. He learns that they aren't a real thing. (_Just gases?_ His eyebrow raise when she mentions it, explaining how they'd begin and die.) That their sun is a star too. That, maybe, in a million years, bagizillion years (He's not sure _bagizillian_ is a word but Shitty Four Eyes hate it when he interrupts), it'll burn out, and the planet, as they know it, will meet its end.

(_Well isn't that great_, he thinks. _We're fighting now just for the sun to burn out later. Just fucking— great_.)

"Hey Tiny," she starts when he doesn't snort or comment for too long, and Levi frowns at the nickname.

"What." God, she's so annoying.

"I heard you did good out there." And then, as though it's the biggest secret in the whole world, she lowers her voice, whispers out harshly from the wooden floor that she's lying on. "They say you're showing soooooo much potential. Did you really kill all two titans at the same time? For a first-timer?"

_Three_, he corrects in his head.

"Three," he says out loud, sighing. "They're fucking disgusting."

She doesn't regard his comment, "Hey, did you know that the titans—"

"No." He tells her forcefully, squeezing his eyes shut. "Shut up."

"I heard you almost got eaten."

_Yeah_, he thinks. "Yeah," he said, scrunching up his nose. "Their mouth stinks."

Somehow, he sees her grin at that. All happy and weird. He doesn't tell her that he also sees a head of their comrade still stuck at the said Titan's throat when it tries to swallow him whole. She sighs, as though content, and stares at the ceiling, arms spread from besides her and legs outstretch. "I'm glad you didn't get eaten." She says gladly, and that, Levi's sure, which is strange, because they're not _friends_. Why do she always try to make it sound like they are? "It'd be a shame to give this room away to someone else."

He snorts. "Like you wouldn't just barge in, you freaking maniac." Then, he pauses. "Or you would have had this room all to yourself."

He doesn't mind it if she does. They're not _friends_. (Once again. Reminded.) So it shouldn't matter. Don't get— you know. _Sentimental _with him, or whatever. Levi doesn't deal with that crap.

"I probably would," she says, unsurprisingly, grinning a little. And then: "But it wouldn't be the same now would it?"

She's looking at him from where she is, flat on the ground, and he's looking at her too.

_Okay_, his mind counters. Now she's making him feel bad about not even caring to know her name. (He still doesn't care, just so you know.)

He sleeps. She goes away.

The night passes.

.

.

.

She goes to her first expedition.

Levi doesn't see her go. Doesn't see her come back. 70 go out, 37 comes back. Things are as shitty as ever. Most of the new recruits that year —_his_ year— is now left to six, seven people, out of originally, a good significant 23. She doesn't visit him the night her troop supposedly returns. He doesn't worry, doesn't fret. He cleans his room. Scrubs it until there's not one fucking trail of her. Doesn't search for _her_ room, doesn't ask question.

The next day she sits with him across the table, like she always do, minus the goggles. She's different. She's still wearing that stupid grin, like she's the same freak that burst into his room when he's sleeping (_nakedly_) to search for an arachnid that turns out to be dead stomped by a book when it crawls to one of the recruit's room. But she looks like shit.

"You look like shit." He tells her, doesn't tell her that his heart may've skipped a beat at the sight of her. Alive. Breathing. In one piece.

"I broke my goggles." She tells him instead, pointing to her narrowed eyes. "Hit my head, too."

Which explains the bandaged temple.

"Did you at least shower?" He asks. She doesn't answer, goes ahead to steal one of his food from his plate. He swats her hand and is surprised to find that she doesn't retract it as quickly as she always do. In fact, she lets his fingers catch her wrist, and he, for the first time, realises how thin it is. How light it weights. She gives out another half-sleepy grin (does she sleep? Does she _eat_?) and he snarls when he snatches his handkerchief out of his pocket. "You're a fucking mess, Shitty Four Eyes."

"You've just noticed?"

He grunts, stands up, and sits at her side of the table. He wipes at her hand, slowly. Tenderly. So very different that how he views her the first time. So freaking _weird_.

He doesn't bat an eye.

"You're a neat-freak."

"And you're half-psychopathic. Now, shut up."

She giggles, then drops her head against the table as he washes the edge of her nails, the spaces between her knuckles. He thinks she might be falling asleep —he's going to _kill_ her if she does— but she finds that she's only squinting at her hand instead, like she just noticed how it miraculously grows out of her body or something. (He hopes that that's not the case.) "What's your name?" He asks suddenly, because he's stupid.

(He's going to regret this, he knows.)

She blinks, as though finally realising that he's such a shithead for not knowing her name this whole time, then exclaims. "Oh my god, I've never known your name either!"

Levi groans.

"I'm Hange. Hange Zoe, at your service." She salutes, but waves her hand too forcefully that she ends up spatting her wounded head instead. _Hard_. "Ow!" She yelps; he smirks. "I'm blind too, as it might seem."

"Levi." He offers, takes her other hand and begins to clean it. "I'm gonna buy you a new set of goggles."

Probably not _buy_, but. Maybe he could ask Erwin.

"Oh?" She responds.

"Yeah." He tugs on one finger. "I'm glad you didn't get eaten, Shitty Four Eyes."

"Yeah," she has that weird smile on her face —_goofy_, as it might've been called— then shrugs her shoulder nonchalantly. "I'm glad too."

(He guesses he doesn't regret it _that_ much.)

.

.

.

She sits by his bed one day, tugging on his pants.

He meets her eyes lowly, because that's the first time ever that she just doesn't lie down and do whatever it is that Hange Zoe does, and it freaks him out a little. But just a little. (He tries not to let it show, though. He has a reputation to maintain, after all. Even in front of Crazy Town over here.) Also, with Zoe, you can never tell. Maybe it's not as important as it seems.

He's wrong this time.

He doesn't know if he wants to be wrong, but he looks into her eyes, and he sees her smile, and he knows (he _knows_) that things aren't okay. (It's the smile, you know. The _smile_.) She buries her face into the mattress; he treads his fingers into her hair (he'd just manhandled her to wash it, so it's okay) and envelops his whole arm over her head and buries his face close to hers. He doesn't hear her sob. He doesn't think she's the type, either. To sob, he means.

But he pulls her into bed.

They don't say anything.

She sniffles and wipes her nose into his pillow —_disgusting_— and whispers. "Sometimes I wanna be like the star. I exist, I shine, then just _die_, you know? Don't you want to be like that, Rivaille?" She calls after his name, her face scrunching up like she's trying to be serious and not-cry at the same time. Truthfully, it's even kind of pathetic.

Levi doesn't say any of that of course, only pulls her messy strands of brown mop of a mess that is her hair away from her eyes, frowning. "No." He likes being alive, as crappy as it is. He likes _her_ being alive. Watches her talk, jump, and babbles until the whole freaking universe collapse on itself probably. But she doesn't need to know that.

"Why not, you shithead." She pulls on his hair, and he hisses.

"I will fucking kill you."

She giggles.

Good.

It means she's returning back to whatever she is before this. Normal. He exhales out. "Just go to sleep, Hange."

"I..." She begins to say, then stops herself, crinkling her eyes. "I think I lov—"

"No." He doesn't meet her eyes. Doesn't think he can. "No, you don't."

She's quiet for a very long time. (Which really means: NOT NORMAL.) And it worries him. _Bothers_ him. A little. A lot. He doesn't think he's breathing for a second there. But she laughs a second later, and when he meets her stare, her eyes are crinkling by the sides, showing her amusement. In those gaze, there's forgiveness. There's regret. "Of course I don't," she says back, smiling even more — like it's okay, like it's _normal_ — and he doesn't clench his hands at the way his stomach twirls and twist under his flesh.

She scoots closer, and her one hand caress the slope of his cheek. He closes his eyes, doesn't think a hand that's so rough could be so gentle, and breathes into the proximity that he doesn't think he would ever allow her to trespass into. "Goodnight, Levi," he hears her whisper and something like his heart —or what resembles of it— shatters under her words.

She kisses his forehead.

He kisses her lips.

.

.

.

Nothing happens that night.

He sleeps, she's gone two hours later. As usual. Life goes on.

.

.

.

He's Humanities' Best Whatever Is It That You Call It Like He Cares Anyway by the time Maria's got breached. She's there with him.

She's taller, but only by inches, always propping her chin atop of his head when she comes to hug him. She's still annoying as ever. They don't talk about that night. But she kisses him now. By the cheeks, on his wrist, his fingers, sometimes biting at his ear. Not publicly, of course (although sometimes yeah, because this is _Hange_) and he gets her to be fed, cleaned — kisses her to shut her up, kisses her to tell her to not die when he's not there to save her dirty, crinkly ass. (Although Hange's ass is not crinkly at all. He would know. She tends to give in to nakedness when she's drunk. _Very_ drunk. Guess who has to salvage whatever's left of her dignity when she does? Actually, don't answer that.)

Sometimes she doesn't even notice it. That bitch.

(He doesn't _get_ affectionate, you know? He means, an _acknowledgement_ would be nice. Geesh.)

Anyway, the wall's down and human population drops by 20%. By the time he's killed a combination of five titans at the same time (for the _second_ time), he's not exactly _thinking_ straight. Someone — a girl, not Hange — hauls him away, kills two while she's at it, then pushes him against the wall. He's damn near losing his head before he fully realises it, and the blood smudging across her face doesn't help it. She's gripping his jaw, he hisses for her to let him go.

He kills again. And again.

When the fight finishes —they _lost_— he sees her standing a distance away, just _staring_ at the ground, and he notices the glass of her goggle —the one that she's been wearing since he bought it for her, with Erwin's help, those years ago— was cracked. She doesn't smile when she sees him leaps close to where she is, but she catches his fall as he tumbles right when he almost reaches to her.

"Levi." She calls, quiet.

"Hange." He closes his eyes, breathes.

She falls with him, and the world is silent.

.

.

.

So much for Humanities' Best And So And So And Whatever The Heck Is The Right Title Anyway.

.

.

.

He realises he's falling for her when he's drunk.

It's messed-up. Because that's how he knows it's real.

She's just _there_, you know. And he realises she's always been. And he's leaning against her and she's laughing —_laughing_— but she doesn't push him away. He knows she won't. He knows if she's indulged enough in whatever that interest her, she won't even _notice_ him. But she does, this time. She looks at him and smiles (the one that he secretly likes) and tells him how pink he looks like, even goes as far as pinching his cheek and twisting it. Of course she would. She, of all people, would.

He asks her if she wants to have sex.

She blinks, looks at him, then goes: "Sure. Why not."

They fuck.

It's a mess.

(He likes hearing her scream, moan, whimper― _say_ his name. He realises he likes it a lot.)

She leaves.

.

.

.

It's how he knows things are more messed-up than he truly suspects.

He doesn't want her to leave.

.

.

.

They don't talk about it.

He doesn't bring it up. She, for the first time, doesn't even breathe a word.

.

.

.

She jumps and trots and spins and sings, "Petra likes youuuuuuu" while he's cleaning the stable because she's a maniac, because of course she would, because this is _Hange Zoe_ and if you don't expect these kind of things, then you clearly have no idea who she truly is. He wants to stab her. Or drown her. Anyway, it'll probably satisfy the heck out of him. (Actually he wants to do a lot of things with her, from very, very satisfying sexual things to homicidal thoughts that he likes to entertain himself with. He never engages, though. She's far too busy anyways these days.) But he doesn't, because he's got more self-controlled than he gives himself credit for.

"Oh come _on_ Revaille." She goes on, fluttering her eyelashes like a drunk fucker in love. He doesn't tell her it looks fucking ridiculous (adorable). "She's sweet, no? Prettyyyyy toooo."

"Date her, then."

"Nah. She's not into that kind of stuff." Levi pauses at that, raises an eyebrow down her way. "You like her too, don't you?"

He doesn't answer her.

Levi thinks Petra's nice. Her smile's pretty too, that is, when she smiles.

Not a lot of people smiles the way she does nowadays. His mother used to. Once. Twice, before she dies.

"She's beautiful."

"Ooooooh, _beautiful_." Hange whistles. "You know what's beautiful, Rivaille? This one star far off north that only shows up..."

He tunes her out then, naturally.

"Rivailleeeeeee."

She always add more 'e' than anybody should. _Why_.

"Stop it." He orders, annoyed. "What."

She grins up at him, "Nothing."

Of course.

"Hey, Rivaille?"

He doesn't pause this time, doesn't even bother to exhale. "What?"

"You do know that I love y—"

"No, you don't." He tells her sharply, because he can't have her say it. Can't fathom the world if the words are out. What happens then? What happens to them? You don't just _go_ around playing with those things. To _think_ that he'd cared about such petty things, huh? "You don't."

She nods, doesn't meet his eyes.

She sighs, then smiles. (Sadder now, the smile. He's seen it before. Still feels the wound trying to heal back from the last time.) "Of course I don't."

He watches her. For a long time. "Don't say those things, Hange. Don't get stupid." He turns his back against her, because it's better this way. Better when he couldn't see what her reaction would be.

"But I do, Levi. I do very much."

He swallows, and listens to her go.

.

.

.

They don't talk for a few days.

He guesses it happens.

.

.

.

There's blood everywhere in front of his eyes (there's always blood everywhere, really) and he looks around and he spots her.

The fact that she's alive, barely standing still, but smiling helplessly (stupidly) all the same makes him breathe better. She spins, like she could sense that he's watching her, and finds his eyes. She smiles some more, revealing teeth and bruised cheek, and he feels his stomach churns (it's going to take _days_, he knows, for her to heal. Hange's not very good with healing. She can't _stay_ still for more than two minutes.) but he keeps away his blades and walk himself to her.

They catch each other again, like they always do.

But she grips on him tighter, fixing her face at the side of his neck, and against his skin, he could feel her smile's threatening to fall. She's scared and tired and way worn out of her mind (he _told_ her to get some sleep the day before) and there's a choked sound ― like she's going to cry ― that makes Levi thinks she probably wants to say something, but can't. She nuzzles her nose instead, kisses his jaw and the side of his eye.

He picks on her gear.

"Levi."

"Hm." He hums, tugs her closer. "You're going to be okay, Shitty Four Eyes."

"Okay." She tells a little childishly, quiet all of a sudden. "I trust you."

Such a shitty thing to say.

.

.

.

He guesses he loves her too. A lot.

Doesn't mean he's going to say it.

(He means, not _today_, at least.)

.

.

.

She comes to him that night with pierced-broken smiles and half-hearted confessions and he takes her in like he always do.

She doesn't say much that night, about everything at all, and Levi ponders for a while if he actually likes the silence. (He doesn't.) But he doesn't push her ―doesn't have the energy to, doesn't have the right encouragement. Because he thinks again about how they got here, both of them, from the moment she walked in with her hair sticking in eight different places and dirt covering her nose, and him, just a street-rat trying to survive another fucked-up day behind these fucked-up walls, to these such demented-thinking figures that's just scraping by as best as they could. He doesn't necessarily likes it when he recalls it back ―most of the things he'd done, he'd seen, some of it leeches onto his mind and still sucking the little pieces left of his soul away at a time― it's fucking disgusting.

But he likes her.

He tells her this. She smiles at him in that weird way of hers, but he knows it's genuine, because the little sign of her dimple shows (it only shows when the lights are cascading _just_ in the right way) and her nose crinkles. "I like you too, Rivaille," she giggles into his hair and he sighs and wonders what earthly force puts a gun to his head and urges him to say it in the first place. (Although he doesn't wholly mind it. It means that he could snuggle into her more.)

She's quiet after that, humming a little, and he's falling asleep a bit before she speaks again, though her words are as carefully reckless as it could be. "It's not stupid, you know," she begins and he nearly groans. Nearly. It doesn't take a genius to know what she's talking about. (Normally, he wouldn't care to keep track of any conversations, but sometimes things they talk about, regardless of how crucial the topic it is or not, _does_ stick. Some facts bug the _fuck_ out of him, some are just... nice to know.)

"Hange." He warns.

"No, I'm going to say it."

If he could see her now ―properly― she might've been red in the face. Out of anger? Embarrassment? Anger, probably. Hange doesn't recognise embarrassment even if it hits her square in the face. He doesn't say anything more, because he knows how his words could actually stop her from doing anything she wants. (Meaning: it won't.)

"I love you, Rivaille. I _love_ you." She jabs at him, finger assaulting his chin repeatedly, and it stings. ""The sun would burn up bagizillion years from now, and I'd probably still love you. What's so wrong with that?"

"Everything," he groans, flicks her hand away and closes his eyes at the pain of her. (He doesn't want to talk about this.) "Bagizillion is not a word."

She laughs, for a moment truly out of glee. "Like _you_ would know," (she knows about his lack of knowledge in... well, _knowledge_.) And kisses his nose, pressing her forehead against him afterwards. She holds him (he allows it) this time, just _holds_ him. And he realises, on that split of the moment, that he wants her. For the minute. The night. Forever. All of her. From her annoying quirks to her enchanting laughter, from the bumps and swells of the bruises covering her body, to the little fingers that do him wonders. And he bumps their head, searching for a kiss.

She sighs. And he knows it's a sad one.

"I love you, Rivaille." She whispers when she gives him a peck at the edge of his lips, and he opens his eyes half-way through to catch hers cast downwards, "What's so wrong with that."

_Everything_, he wants to tell her. _Everything_.

(There aren't supposed to, you know? Not in this world. Not with so much losses, and so much horror. It's terrifying.)

((What happens if he can't say it back? What happens if he _can_? What happens then?))

"Shitty Four Eyes," he calls and she quirks a small grin at that, amused, and he thumbs her lips, down to the edge of her mouth. She's so close to him, he sees ― what happens one day when she's not? (He doesn't think about that. He can't.) "I'm sorry," he tells instead, because that's all he could offer. (In this state, he can't risk anything. Especially not _this_.) And the look that dawns in her eyes kill him. It will continuously does so, he thinks, up until the universe swallows him whole.

"I see." She pulls away then, but not completely and Levi feels like somebody stabs him in the stomach.

"Hange," he covers his eyes with his one hand while the other grabs her arm. The pillow ruffles under his head, a sign that she's turning her head to look at him, and his chest buries itself on him, crashing on his lungs and heart. (This hurts him more, stomaching the idea that he might lose her. Out of everything. _Her_.) "Don't― don't leave."

She's quiet again, for a millennium probably.

(She's always so fucking silent in the time that he didn't need her to.)

"What―" He hates himself for saying this, even _thinking_ it. Loathe, really. "What happens if you say that and I lose you tomorrow? Or you lose me?" He wants to say more, like, _have you ever thought of that you stupid fucker?_ But he doesn't. Levi, on the contrary to whatever the humanity long to believe, isn't that strong. In fact, he's the frailest person he knows his whole life.

She's silent once again ―_stupid_― and he feels something shifts from where she is. "Well then," he could almost _hear_ her shrug. "If you lose me, then at least you know that I do. And if you―" she hesitates, and he immediately hates the idea of dying and leaving her alone. "At least I know I've said it. At least you _know_."

"You're so fucking stupid." He puts his hand away, and he wants to glare at her. Probably feeds her to the Titans himself. "You're supposed to say we're _not_ going to lose each other, you shithead." Man, she sucks at this.

She laughs. He hates her even more.

"Oh Rivaille, my short, little hero." He grunts when she rolls back into him, lying partially atop of him. He takes the chance to snuck an arm around her not-so-small frame, keeping her close. "Okay― we're not going to lose each other. But if we _do_―"

"Shut up," he muffles when he kisses her, and she yelps out an 'umph!' before grinning and kissing him back.

Like he said, he doesn't wanna talk about it.

"I'm not going to lose you," she mumbles when she falls from climbing onto his body and next to him, chin near his ears, breast pressed against his shoulder. He snuggles back into her, because that's what he does. (Live with it.) "And you're not losing me."

He hates talking about death. Especially if she's involved.

"At least, I'll fight for it."

He thinks about her words, and finds how much he likes it. He decides he'll fight for it, too.

_I love you back_, it gnaws on his teeth, those words, when she giggles a hum (only _she_ could giggle a hum) and presses a nose against his temple, one finger twirling the small scars from his street days on his biceps. "Stay, Four Eyes."

"Hm?" It rumbles, when she voices it, eyes-closed, shaking his ribs.

"Stay," he holds her tighter, pretends that he could stamps her on his bed for the rest of the night. The rest of his life. "Tonight. Stay. Do you hear me?"

She nods, giggles a little. "I hear you." And lets him snuggles into her some more.

She stays.

.

.

.

He loves her. He's known this for quite a while now. It rushes through him, this truth, when he's holding her like this, touching her, _kissing_ her. She's annoying as fuck, sure, but goddamn if she isn't one of the best thing there in his life. But Levi won't say it. Not right now, not this way, probably not tomorrow when the chances of both of them dying doubles over the day before. But he will. He doesn't know when, doesn't know how. But he will.

Until then, it's great that he knows this.

And he will love her, up till his dying breath, to his every breaking bones. Till the sun burns up, 'till the probability of _bagizillion_ being put into a dictionary. He loves her then, he loves her now.

(Levi thinks Hange has already figured this out.)

.

.

.

Erwin had always mentioned she's smart.

.

**T**_here's no need to worry when you see just where we're at_  
><em>Just please don't say you love me 'cause I might not say it back<em>."


End file.
